I just need to rest for a second
by Enkidu07
Summary: Sam is usually the one who never gets enough sleep, but the current hunt is leaving Dean feeling a little drained. Luckily, Sam has his back. Dean!whump/h/c. Chapter 2 now added. Scene insert expanding Dean!whump.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: I Just Need to Rest for a Second

**Author**: Enkidu07

**Beta**: Mad Server – I loved the suggestions, hope I did them justice!

**Disclaimer**: Just needed to curl up with Dean for a minute. Once he is rested up he'll be back out fighting evil.

--

Dean curls sideways on the bed, dredging up the energy to sit. He can hear Sam quietly shuffling in the bathroom, making the lulling noises of early morning preparation for the day. He levers himself up and sits forward on the edge of the bed, surprised when the room spins a little. He squints at the clock. 5:14. It's not even daylight. He's too old for this.

"Hey. What're you doing up?" Sam asks quietly as he exits the bathroom, clean and dressed.

"I could ask you the same thing," Dean intones as he wills his eyelids to clear half-mast.

He feels Sam's worried eyes search his face and he tries to shake off the heavy lethargy but then Sam simply says, "I'm hungry. Go back to sleep for a while. I'll go find us some breakfast." Sam's deep eyes encourage him to lie back down.

Dean topples. Concern wars with exhaustion. Sam seems kind of upset. Maybe more bad dreams. Maybe just general lack of sleep. And, was he limping? Dean's thoughts race but his body demands blissful unconsciousness. His eyes fall closed even as he feels the blanket pulled back up over him. A hand warm on his hip, warming him inside too. "I'll be back." It's all he really needs to hear to send him back to sleep.

oooOooo

He rouses again when he feels the bed shift beside him. A cool hand on his forehead. Then on the back of his neck. Then smoothing softly down his back.

"Are you touching me?" he mumbles, trying for threatening, but not really ready to move.

"No, you're dreaming. And I'm done. Go back to sleep." Sam leaves. Moments later, Dean feels him return and hears a muffled grunt as Sam settles in against the headboard, his hip and leg making a warm line down his back. He really should push him away. But the bed is warm and soft and he's so tired. And the support against his back is kind of comfortable. He sighs back into sleep.

oooOooo

"Dean?"

"Mmmmph? Sm." Dean dredges himself into consciousness again.

"Dean? You need to eat something. Come on, Dean, wake up." Dean feels a gentle hand pervading his sticky warm sleep and tries to shuffle it off.

"Dean." A hand repeating the trail across his forehead, against his cheek, then curling around the back of his head. Warm and soothing, he snuggles deeper. "Dean." More insistent this time and a firm grasp shaking his bicep.

"Sam."

"There you go. You with me? You need to eat, Dean. Come on, I have food."

Dean, half awake, manages to squint one eye. His limbs feel heavy. Like his muscles have been used for too long and are mutinously abandoning cognitive control. "Sam?" Even his thoughts are sluggish. He hears the slur in his own voice as he mumbles, "What the hell?"

"It's okay, Dean. You're okay," Sam soothes. "You awake this time? Open your eyes. Come on. " Sam smiles at him as he pries his eyes open. "Hey," he greets softly. "You remember the hunt last night?"

"Sam." Dean dredges up murky memories of their hunt the night before. His brain struggles to focus and his attempts make him more tired than before. He remembers a pervading sense of impotence. The perception of the world around him moving too quickly and his body being weighted down and trapped in dream-like slow motion, ineffective and inefficient. He shudders.

"We were hunting the Valcry," Sam prompts.

_Uhhh, oh._ "Fucking energy-sucking demonic parasite?" Dean half-whispers, eyes falling closed again.

"Got it in one. It was tapping into your energy. Sucked you a little dry. I figured it out when you collapsed on me at Grayson's barn. Just as our mammoth parasitic friend showed up. But you're okay. We got it. You just need to rest. And to eat. Sit up. Come on, I'll help." Dean feels himself being levered up against the headboard and grunts along with Sam. He feels more tired now than when he woke up in the early morning. He shivers as the blankets fall and pool in his lap.

"Time is it?" Even talking takes work.

"Almost evening. You slept the day away."

"Tired, Sam."

"I know, Dean. But, it'll get better. Eat something and you can sleep till morning, okay?"

"You tired, Sam?" Dean squints and makes out the tired lines around Sam's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm tired too. Eat, and we can both sleep."

oooOooo

As injuries go, this one isn't so bad. Dean feels drained but the bed feels so good. He's warm and comfortable. There's no telltale ache in his ribs or abdomen. His head swims with drowsiness but his pillow cradles it just right.

The only thing that prevents perfection is a niggling sense that something is still wrong. That Sam needs him. He squints into the evening light, searching out Sam's face. Sam sits hunched at the small table, fidgeting and fiddling with something out of Dean's line of sight. The lines around Sam's eyes have deepened, his forehead furrowed as if his head aches. Dean struggles to focus. Is Sam in pain, or just tired?

"You 'k, Sam?" He gets out.

Sam's eyes jump to his in surprise and Dean sees him quickly cover a wince at the sharp movement. "I thought you were asleep."

"You okay?" Dean repeats even as he feels the darkness tugging him under.

Sam smiles, the lines softening but not entirely disappearing. "It's okay, Dean. I got a little banged up but I'm okay."

It's not okay, but even as Dean's worry spikes, his world fades to darkness.

oooOooo

Dean floats. The tight grip of sleep is loosening but he is unable to break free completely. Memories of the hunt hover vaguely in front of him, engulfing him, pulling him back into the previous night. Mixed up and skewed, but vividly real.

He is lying back against something hard and unforgiving. He sluggishly looks around. Sam is hunched over in the grass too far away from him, etching symbols into the hard dirt, chanting melodically, focused. Dean tries to call out. He can see the shadows lengthen around him ominously. He blinks rapidly in the twilight. He can see the gloom of the forest creeping towards Sam with oily blackness eating up the grassy field. The barn looms ever-larger overhead, the weight of its darkness crushing him, stealing the breath from his lungs and the energy from his spirit.

His eyes suddenly catch the dark figure of the Valcry, large and mishapenly bear-like, slowly approaching, stooped low and seemingly weak. Weak, but approaching Sam. Dean can't will his body to move. Fear that usually sparks action this time only increases his lethargy and as he weakens, the figure straightens and seems to grow stronger, quicker, more sure.

As he watches, adrenaline courses through him in a vain attempt to pull it together and come to Sam's aid. The figure becomes larger and more threatening. His brain sluggishly recognizes that it is his energy that is feeding the predator. Yet to still his reflex to help Sam is like deciding to no longer breathe.

Sam.

"Sam," Dean whispers, ineffective even in his floating state of consciousness.

As Dean watches the memories play out, he sees the large figure emerge from the shadows and pulling back a mighty paw, it strikes Sam across the back. Sam sprawls, surprised and eyes wide, but he keeps mumbling the chant even as the wind is knocked from him.

Sam lies, reciting quietly from his ungainly position in the grass, almost without breath. The figure moves in, completely shadowing Sam from Dean's line of sight. Dean gives one more futile attempt to pull himself to his brother's aid. With his last bit of strength, he manages to surge upwards and then consciousness fails him and he falls to an undignified heap on the cold, hard ground.

oooOooo

Dean gasps himself fully awake. "Sam," he whispers, his thoughts jumbled and confused. He scans the dark room for his brother and sees him spread out on his stomach on the other bed. Dean slows his breathing and watches Sam's face as he shifts restlessly even in his slumber.

Drawing on energy stores that are slowly becoming replenished, Dean pushes himself gingerly upwards and when the room slows to a leisurely spin, he carefully levers himself across the divide and gently sits on the edge of Sam's bed, using the headboard to keep himself vertical.

Watching his brother begin to rouse, Dean slowly pushes Sam's shirt up as far as he can to inspect his brother's back.

"Dean?"

"Sammy? Are you okay?" Dean leans his weight on Sam, keeping him still. "Just let me look Sam, are you hurt?" As Sam's shirt slides upwards, brilliant bruises emerge, spanning the breadth of his shoulder blades. Dean sucks in a breath and cautiously probes the bruises for breaks. Sam shifts uncomfortably under him but tolerates his examination.

"I'm okay, Dean. Nothing broken. Just bruises."

Pushing himself up a little, Dean takes his weight off of his brother and allows him to turn onto his side towards him. As soon as he shifts, Dean's hands continue their anxious exploration, across Sam's torso, to his chest and neck, checking his pulse at the carotid and the wrist. Sam's hands capture his and Sam waits until Dean's eyes find his.

"I'm okay." Sam's eyes are sincere in the soft lamplight. "When you passed out, the Valcry lost all the strength it was stealing from you and I was able to complete the charm. When it fell I thought you, that you…" Sam swallows and as he trails off, his eyes gleam with moisture.

Dean's reserves are once again tapped and he uses his remaining strength to pull out of Sam's grip and pat him haphazardly on the arm. He sways as he attempts to stand and Sam grabs out to steady him. Scooting backwards across the full bed and grunting with the effort, he pulls Dean towards him and Dean collapses on the welcoming mattress. Dean blinks dazedly at the sudden change in altitude and then focuses on Sam's face mere inches from his own. "Maybe I can keep a better eye on you from here" Dean mumbles as his eyes fall closed.

"Just rest a minute, Dean. Bobby says that if you want to regain your strength you're gonna have to really rest." Sam pats his arm lightly and then rubs it as if to warm him up.

Just as he is about to fall into the welcoming darkness, Dean again sees images of Sam under attack and feels the same weakness that had prevented him from protecting his brother. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Sam, apparently reading his thoughts, rubs his arm again, warming him in more ways that one, and whispers back, "It's okay. You taught me well and I'm okay. Go to sleep, now."

Moments before surrendering to sleep, Dean cracks one eye and, with his last of his reserves, grates out, "Stop touching me."

--

End.


	2. Collapsing Dean Scene

Insert scene by request. Written entirely for Mad Server. Well, a little for me too, but mostly for The Mad one.

See Chapter 1 for the usual intro info.

--

**_Previously_**:

"We were hunting the Valcry," Sam prompts.

_Uhhh, oh._ "Fucking energy-sucking demonic parasite?" Dean half-whispers, eyes falling closed again.

"Got it in one. It was tapping into your energy. Sucked you a little dry. I figured it out when you collapsed on me at Grayson's barn.

--

_**C**_**_ut to collapsing-Dean scene_**:

The barn looms on the horizon, standing slightly askew amidst the endless rows of drying corn stalks. To the left, the dense forest is already keeping secrets in the late afternoon dusk.

The area is remote enough to risk summoning the parasitic demon without innocents getting in the way. But Dean's eyes keep drawing back to the waves of corn and he shivers subconsciously, wary of what their tight rows might conceal.

As they approach, Dean scans the area vigilantly while Sam stumbles along, his nose in dad's journal, reviewing the charm one last time before they begin. They will need to summon the beast and then lay the trap just as twilight descends.

Before beginning, the brothers share a glance and quickly patrol the yard and the barn to ensure they are alone. Then Dean nods to Sam and Sam begins the ritual that will invoke the Valcry. Listening distractedly to Sam's chant, Dean continues to scan the area. Slowly circling the yard, he keeps eyes, ears, and attention trained on the corn and the forest for any encroaching danger.

Closing in on the barn again, Dean cocks his head through the door to further inspect its contents. Suddenly aware of silence, he turns abruptly back to the yard, only to jump backwards and stumble across the threshold and further into the barn when he finds Sam absurdly close behind him.

Sam grins but merely says, "It's done. Now we wait."

Swallowing, Dean nods. Looking over Sam's shoulder he once again scans the part of the yard he can see through the barn door and then lets his eyes trail the interior barn walls. A scythe hangs just out of reach to his left, kept company by a gleaming hoe and wicked rake. Dean swallows again.

Inordinately distracted by the farming tools, Dean becomes aware of Sam's attention on him. "What?"

"I said," Sam says pointedly, as he narrows his eyes at him, assessing, "I think we should move outside so we can get ready to lay the trap. The Valcry could come soon." There is a beat. A pause. A penetrating stare. "You okay?"

Dean swallows. He licks him lips. He is suddenly aware of how much effort it is taking to keep his throat moist, to keep his breaths even. How heavy the air is and how the overwhelming tang of dried hay is pressing in on him. He can practically taste the odor of grass that is long past its life; that lies moist and decaying in the furthest corner of the barn. It burns his lungs with its familiarity. Pokes at his eyes.

The wooden floor squeaks a little when he sways on his feet. He is already losing the scene before him, the picture fading in and out as he stumbles backwards. He is scarcely conscious of hitting the wall. The wood at his back is hard and the hay filled air holds damp heat from the dying day. It fills his lungs thickly. He hears Sam's sneakers scuffling across the floor as he nears Dean, and Dean is uncomfortably aware that Sam is crushing and scattering the loose, dead hay beneath his feet.

Dean knows he's hit the floor when he feels the harsh brush of hay straws digging into his back. His t-shirt has ridden up, leaving his skin unprotected. The tiny stalks jab into his flesh. They are stiff, irritating, and he really wants to sweep them away. They capture his attention as he struggles to pull in his breath.

"Dean! Shit." A voice carries along the squeaking floor. And then he is floating in darkness and all he has is that smell. Drying. Dying.

"Dean, come on, man. It's here. It's using you. We need to get outside and finish this." Dean feels Sam's words wash over him. He feels himself levered into a sitting position, his shirt falling back into place as he is shuffled around. His shirt creates a layer of armor between him and the prodding grass and he breathes a sigh of relief that leaves him sagging in Sam's arms. He opens his eyes briefly but everything is askew. The interior of the barn now matching the exterior design. The scythe gleams from its precarious position on the tilting wall. He lets his eyes fall closed as his nose is bathed in a new scent. So nice. Soothing familiarity instead of abrasive death. He worms his face deeper into Sam's warmth and aroma.

"Sam." Slurred in between gasps for breath.

"That's it, Dean. I've got you." Sam's hand cradling his jaw, turning him to get a look at his face. Supporting his head and peering hard at him, abnormally close. Levering him fully to his feet. Allowing him to keep his head tucked to Sam's chest, hiding from the decaying scent. Stumbling together across the hay littered floor and back out into the twilight.

The fresh air of evening rouses Dean briefly. He breathes in deeply and pulls away from Sam a little, still barely supporting any of his own weight. Sam lowers him to a wooden pallet, accidentally jacking up his shirttail again and Dean grunts his displeasure. Once settled, Sam smooths his shirt and levels his gaze.

Sam speaks soft and serious, "It's using you, Dean. I have to end this now. Stay here and stay calm. I'll lead it away and set the trap."

Not heeding his brother's words, Dean pushes at Sam, unwilling to allow his brother to face this enemy alone. Trying to heave himself up, Dean fumbles as the world starts to slant. He feels the tingle of energy as it is stolen from his fingertips, from his toes, as it prickles around his scalp. No longer in control of his limbs, Dean feels Sam lay him gently back against the hard wood. He feels Sam's hand slide from where it had been cupping protectively around the back of his head. It briefly alights on his brow, then on his jaw, and then squeezes his shoulder before it pulls back. He floats just this side of awareness as he hears his brother's footsteps fall away.

--

**_end of scene insert. Cut to Dean remembering what happened next in chapter 1._**

-shrugs and looks around sheepishly- okay?

Special thanks to Soncnica for the faith and the inspiration. The things that girl can do with hay… Thanks for letting me borrow some of your ideas. And words. And, you know, sentences.

And to Nana56 just because she lives near scary rows of corn ALL the time. Though she is slowly convincing me not to fear The Corn.

But mostly to Mad Server for giving me the excuse to try to write a dizzy, drowsy, woozy, wooby Dean.


End file.
